God, why? I’ll be obedient if I haven’t done something right. I’ll do what you want me to do, be what you want me to be.
What do YOU need from ME?
Is it even about me? Is her illness, my defeat? I feel selfish. I feel angry. I feel broken.
I give up.
That’s where I landed for a while… In the land of “I give up.”
It hurt less there, in give-up land. Ignoring pain. Ignoring whether everything happening was my fault or happening to build my character… Just a feeling I would assume you get that one second before a car crash when you see the semi-truck coming towards you.
The feeling of, “Oh no”… and then … “Oh well.” It’s a weird kind of peace when you know nothing you do will help.
That you praying better or acting kinder or being smarter or wiser WON’T FIX ANYTHING … It’s almost freeing.
Accept … if your honest … down deep inside you know … When you are done “giving up” and feeling sorry for yourself, all that will remain is hurt.
Being broken isn’t fun. It’s not exciting or something you may look forward to.
But I now believe … often … it is NECESSARY.
I was rebuking the devil and crying out to God, “Heal my Mom! Why are we doing this again!? We’ve already defeated this devil!”
But day after day, night after night, week after week, month after month, I fought hopelessness.
I didn’t particularly care about my Instagram feed, if my waistline was small enough, if my worship career would ever take off, or if my going to law school was just for kicks.
No.
I just wanted my Mom back.
I eventually had to come to a place with God where I could say, “Not my will, but Yours be done.”
I’d lived on “Your Will Be Done” Street before … and here I was again.
I knew the drill. Feel the pain and praise anyway.
Sounds Pretty … Hurts Bad.
I had to let my brokenness place one more brick of “Trust” onto my tower of “Character” and fill my mind with His Word to be strong enough to survive this spiritual reconstruction.
What’s my point?
I was just broken. And I hated being just broken. It just about killed me.
However …
At night when I cried, I cried out to God.
When I sang a song of praise, it cost me something.
When I gave an encouraging word, even to myself, it was a sweet ointment being painfully squeezed out of an olive that had already been pressed.
Through brokenness, when I told someone I loved Jesus, I meant it. My relationship with Him was not pushed to the sidelines or an “Oops, I forgot” in my day. His relationship with me was my bread, my air, the only light in my battling soul.
When I said I loved Jesus … I. LOVED. JESUS.
Today. Everything is not perfect. I don’t sit back and reminisce about all the pain I once had…
But I’m stronger.
No one can take those nights I had with my Jesus, kneeling at His feet. Those nights of Him just holding me, rocking me, loving me.
No one can ever take that away from me. Those memories keep me humble before God and man and those moments are imprinted on my heart forever.
My encouraging word to you?
Let whatever season you are in … just happen. Let Jesus break you. It sounds awful, but I promise, brokenness can be beautiful.
Brokenness comes to us all at some point, so why not give your pain purpose? Ask God to help you break with joy. Allow Him to fashion your faith and broaden your vision.
Believe it or not, your heart will get lighter and your mind will renew as you meditate on Him and His Word despite the difficulty of your circumstances.
Just let it happen.
Catch the Wave,
Victoria
0 Comments